


Grounded

by TsarinaTorment



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Angst, Bradycardia, Broken Bones, Canon Compliant, Dehydration, Episode 3.23, Episode Tag, Family, Filling In the Gaps, Gen, Hurt Scott, Hurt/Comfort, Near Death Experiences, Post-Episode 3.22, Post-episode fic, Scott Whump, Scott's POV, Season 3, Spider Bite, Spiders, buried treasure, hypotension, venom - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:07:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25570333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TsarinaTorment/pseuds/TsarinaTorment
Summary: Scott didn't enjoy the trash mine rescue at all, but he enjoyed the consequences of it even less.Canon-compliant episode tag for 3.22 "Buried Treasure" and 3.23 "Venom"
Comments: 21
Kudos: 45





	1. Chapter 1

It was an exhausted Scott Tracy that dragged himself into his shower at the end of what had been a day he honestly wished had never happened. A trip into a trash mine had never been on his bucket list – even if he'd known about the things before today, it _still_ wouldn't have featured on his bucket list – and after the chaos that had ensued, he would be delighted if he never had to enter one again. Somewhere in the big brother part of his mind labelled _Gordon_ was a mental note to make sure his second youngest brother never went in one again, either. While Scott was all for his brothers making friends, he had concerns about his budding acquaintance with the woman known only as Scraps.

He wasn't entirely sure Gordon had told the truth when he said he'd never gone scavenging himself, and he certainly wasn't sure Gordon _wouldn't_ if the opportunity presented itself. After the hydrofoil, the blond had gained a 'if today was my last day' attitude and refused to let new experiences pass him by; it was understandable, but more than a little stressful for Scott at times.

The mission had been a success, but it hadn't felt like it when both his accompanying brothers were stewing in angry silence over the comms on the way back, Scraps (encouraged by Gordon) had insisted he fork out the quite frankly ludicrous price of the stretchy toy, and the owners of the site were breathing down his neck about destruction of their property. Apparently they didn't care that it was _Scraps_ who had damaged their WRM when International Rescue had wrecked their park and were well known to be the Tracy family – that was, known to be filthy rich. It had been a very _expensive_ day for both him personally and the family at large, and just to compound it all he'd come home to the news that while the Mechanic was now willingly working on the engine, the price of that had been the Hood finding out about their plans.

Brains' furious lecture about the Mole Pod had just been the icing on the cake. Scott had _tried_ to save it and nearly got himself munched by the mechanical monster in the process, but apparently trying wasn't good enough. He understood – he _did_. Every time Brains had to build them a new Pod so they could keep functioning at full capacity was another delay on the T-Drive engine. It was just one more thing he didn't need in a day where the only highlight was the fact that at least their rescue hadn't failed where it counted – Scraps was alive, and being treated for shock and a fractured rib at her local hospital.

Speaking of ribs…

Four long, gruelling hours after the rescue finished, Scott finally had the chance to peel his dirty, mud-splattered uniform away from his aching body and assess the physical damage he'd sustained. His suit was reinforced and designed to protect him, but it had its limits, and Scraps' shrill scream forcing Gordon to make an emergency stop – just for the sake of a damned _toy_ – had slammed his torso into the rigid exoskeleton of the Dragonfly Pod _hard_.

Just because their Pods couldn't stand up to a WRM didn't mean they weren't solidly built. _Very_ solidly built. Scott had felt a sadly all-too familiar sensation of at least one rib breaking at the contact, but with their lives still decidedly in peril hadn't had the chance to do anything about it. Their frantic flight for the surface, where he had nothing but his uniform and what shelter he could glean from the front of the Pod to protect him from their forceful resurfacing, hadn't done him any favours either.

It spoke volumes that both his brothers were so annoyed with him – one of them for reasons outside of his control, which was _very_ unlike Virgil – that neither of them had noticed how stiffly he'd been standing. They hadn't even glanced at him twice despite knowing that he'd been on the outside of a Pod travelling at high speeds through a tunnel, and while there was always a part of Scott who hated to worry his brothers and hid injuries he found himself wrong-footed at the fact he'd got away with it.

The painkillers he'd popped the moment he was back in One, out of sight, had done their job to get him home, but after four hours they were wearing off, pain stabbing its way through his chest. He should go to the infirmary, get a scan to see how bad it was and maybe even reluctantly tell someone, but he couldn't bring himself to do that. Virgil might be in a bad mood with him, but he'd instantly feel guilty for not noticing, and Grandma would not go easy on her favourite grandson for neglecting something as basic as a health check after a dangerous manoeuvre, no matter how annoyed he'd been with the person in question.

He had a stock of painkillers in his ensuite, like they all did, for minor things like bumps and bruises. They weren't supposed to be used in relation to any unreported injuries, but Scott had already decided he _couldn't_ report it, and besides, he was the commander. He could bend a few rules – it wasn't his first rodeo with broken ribs, anyway. He knew how to treat them. Painkillers, ice if he could get some without causing suspicion, and rest when he could snatch it.

This was a case of snatching some rest – it was dinner soon, but it wouldn't be the first time he'd skipped Grandma's cooking and it wouldn't be the last. It wouldn't raise any eyebrows if he wasn't there; he doubted his brothers would be if they could escape.

Looking in the bathroom mirror, it was clear straight away that he'd taken quite a hit. Mottled bruising decorated his torso and shoulders – the first from the collision with the Pod, the second from breaking through the surface. Tentative probing with his fingers told him what he already knew as his chest flinched away from the touch with a spike of pain. At least one broken rib.

He'd sneak some ice from the freezer once everyone else was in bed, but for the time being he had a long overdue date with his shower and popped a fresh dose of painkillers before easing himself under the water. Ideally, Scott wanted a hot one, but the broken rib meant he kept it cool in an attempt to soothe the swelling. Brown water swirled around his feet, finally washing away the dirt he'd acquired in the trash mine, and he let himself relax as the painkillers kicked in.

The mission finally felt like it was over. He couldn't say the day was over, because he still had the never-ending pile of reports for both the GDF and Tracy Industries to write up and there was never any telling when the next emergency call would come in, but no more trash mine, no more furious gardeners or landowners.

Just Scott and-

"Scott, sorry to interrupt your shower but there's another situation." John appeared suddenly and Scott jumped, muffling a curse as his ribs informed him that painkillers or not, that was not appreciated. He sighed instead.

"F.A.B." He rubbed his face tiredly, beyond glad his bathroom camera didn't transmit anything below the neck so his decorative torso was hidden from his ever-attentive brother. "I'll be in the lounge in two." He wanted to say five, but it normally only took two minutes and longer would make John suspicious.

"See you there." John vanished and he let out another breath, turning off the water. Strictly speaking, he shouldn't fly with a broken rib, or go on a rescue at all, but as long as he took it easy it would be fine.

Two minutes later found him in the lounge, apparently the last one there. Virgil and Gordon didn't acknowledge his arrival and he tried not to let it sting. They'd work with him on the rescue – it wasn't the first time they'd gone on a rescue mid-row, and no doubt wouldn't be the last. The perils of living _and_ working full time with siblings. Alan, at least, gave him a big grin and he returned it as best he could before turning to John, who was hovering impatiently in the middle of the room. He was always impatient when they weren't all immediately available; Scott didn't take it personally.

"Good, you're here," John acknowledged. "We've got a collapsed mineshaft with a worker trapped inside in Cornwall, England. His colleagues all got out okay but they don't have the gear to get him out without risking a bigger collapse."

"F.A.B., John," Scott replied. "I'll go on ahead in Thunderbird One. Virgil, Gordon, follow me in Thunderbird Two." Another underground rescue, and another Mole Pod needed. Typical. Still, if it was really only simple, he wouldn't be needed for more than co-ordination. He could handle that. "Virgil, have you had the chance to replace the lost gear from the trash mine?"

"All replaced," Virgil confirmed, heading for his launch chute. "We're out of spares now, though, so we'd better not lose this one." Scott winced – that wasn't good.

"I'll bear that in mind," he said, reaching up towards his lamps and pulling them down towards his chest as always, glad that the painkillers had more or less kicked in so the movement didn't make his ribs flare up in pain. The last thing he saw before being whisked around into his chute was Alan, looking somewhat dejected at being left behind, again.

They'd barely needed Gordon for the mission – if Scott was at full health he would have entertained leaving him behind – so there was no reason to bring Alan. Still, there was a scolding voice in the back of his head that sounded suspiciously like Grandma telling him he should have let Alan take Thunderbird One and take a rest himself.

If Thunderbird Three was needed while they were gone, Alan would be fit to pilot, he argued back. Thunderbird One would be tough, but he conceded that there was no way he could launch into _space_ with at least one broken rib. The voice quietened but he knew it wasn't pacified.

The painkillers diluted but didn't entirely quash the pain of suiting up, but with no-one around to see he could gasp without fear of being caught, and soon he was scrambling into his pilot seat – still muddy; cleaning his 'bird had been next on the priority list after the shower, because apparently his brothers had decided not to help him out on that front.

If suiting up was bad, launching was worse. He'd anticipated that, throwing his comms onto mute – John knew better than to interrupt during the launch sequence unless it was truly urgent so there shouldn't be anyone to notice – as he gasped for breath against the stinging of his chest. Full speed was out of the question, but as it was a rescue where they already knew what they'd need, he didn't have to get there much before Thunderbird Two, so he settled for an almost bearable Mach 10 and flicked his comms back on, hoping John wouldn't ask questions.

Presumably John had reached the same conclusion as him, as his decision of half max speed wasn't commented on when his brother made contact a few minutes later to continue the debrief with additional information coming in from the danger zone.

It was a textbook rescue, a fact Scott was incredibly glad for as he let Virgil take the Mole Pod down, followed by Gordon with stabilising foam to stop the mine collapsing any further. In and out, no complications, no injuries. The trapped worker emerged from the Pod shaken but otherwise fine and Scott watched Virgil check him over thoroughly to be safe as he and Gordon secured both intact Pods back inside the module, where they belonged.

"I'll see you back at base," he told his brothers as he headed back to his 'bird. Gordon gave him a crisp nod while Virgil gave no indication that he'd heard – as he was still checking the rescuee over, Scott hadn't expected one. Gordon's reaction told him everything he needed to know – the attitude was still professional-only. He wasn't yet forgiven for whatever transgression it was Gordon was mad at him about. It was nearing midnight at home, though; they were all tired and Scott fully expected it to all blow over by morning, once they'd had some sleep.

The site supervisor was waiting for him as he approached.

"Just wanted to say thank you again," the woman said, sticking out her hand. He took it and hid a wince at her particularly vigorous shake. It was too soon for more painkillers, but this particular dose was wearing off already; the flight home was not going to be fun.

"Just doing our job," he returned, polite smile on his face, and carefully retracted his hand. She let him.

"Your job's an impressive one," she winked at him, before her gaze wandered slightly. Scott wanted to groan – he knew that look, and normally he'd play along, maybe even see if he could score if he was feeling particularly lucky, but he was physically tired, emotionally drained, and in pain. No flirting for him today.

He just nodded at her, smile slightly more genuine because regardless of the situation it always gave him a bit of a boost when he got attention of that sort – not that he'd dare admit that to his brothers, or they'd never let him forget it – and she laughed.

"I'd say another time, but I'd hope we don't need your assistance again," she grinned, and before Scott realised it was coming, there was a playful elbow in his ribs. Nothing hard, not even something he'd normally react to, but his ribs _screamed_ and he gasped, instinctively doubling over before forcing himself straight again.

He fervently hoped his brothers hadn't noticed, but didn't dare glance around to check.

"Oh, I'm so-"

"You're right, hopefully you won't need us again." He overrode her apology, sent her another small grin, and got himself back inside the safety of his 'bird as quickly as he could without seeming like he was running away. His ribs _burned_ and he eyed the first aid cabinet, sorely tempted, but squashed the impulse. Piloting in pain wasn't advisable, but piloting overdosed on medication was potentially fatal. Taking a moment to settle, he opened up a link to Thunderbird Five.

"I'm returning to base now," he informed his brother. "Rescue complete; Virgil and Gordon are finishing up with the worker, but they've got it all in hand and I've got a shower to finish."

"F.A.B.," John acknowledged, a small grin on his face at Scott's mention of a shower. "I'll see if I can get the world to wait on getting itself into any more trouble until you're done, big brother."

"That would be nice," Scott grinned, settling back in his chair more comfortably and ignoring his ribs. They both knew John couldn't control that, especially not with the Hood and his Chaos Crew running around, but sometimes it was nice to pretend. "Thunderbird One out."

He muted his comms again – against protocol, but he doubted Virgil or Gordon would be calling him up for a chat given the way they were cold-shouldering him and he'd already addressed John – before taking off. VTOL launches were far gentler with the G-forces, but unlike earlier, he wasn't riding high on the full effect of the painkillers, so it hurt worse as he accelerated.

Mach 8 would be plenty to get him home, he decided, unwilling to risk anything faster than necessary, and once he was cruising he unmuted his comms, confident he wouldn't have missed anything.

"-ott. _Scott._ Thunderbird One are you listening to me?"

Virgil sounded furious. That didn't bode well.

"Reading you loud and clear, Thunderbird Two," he replied. "What's happened?" He reached out in preparation of turning his 'bird's nose back the way he'd come.

"'What's happened', he asks," Virgil steamed, hologram materialising. He was standing firmly upright, arms crossed and one hand tapping on his arm. "The site supervisor wanted to know why you're working with a rib injury."

_Dammit_.

"Virgil-" he started, not quite sure how he was going to deflect the accusation. His brother didn't give him a chance.

"Don't _Virgil_ me," he snapped. "Get back here so I can see why she thinks you're injured."

"It's fine," Scott lied. "Nothing serious. I'll see you back at base." He cut the call, which in immediate hindsight was stupid decision, but to his surprise, Virgil didn't immediately call back. Still, he switched his comms back to mute and eyed his speed. If he wanted to get back before Thunderbird Two, Mach 8 would be enough, but if Virgil pushed his 'bird, it wouldn't leave him with much time to grab a shower and smuggle some ice. Gritting his teeth, he pushed her up to Mach 10, swallowing the grunt of pain from the additional pressure.

Almost immediately, Thunderbird One started to slow.

"Hey!" he yelped. The absolute _last_ thing he needed was his 'bird crashing. It might give him enough injuries to hide the fact his ribs were already broken, but wrecking his 'bird was not worth avoiding a lecture. He tried to correct it, but her controls jammed under his hands. "Oh, you're kidding me," he groaned, preparing himself to stand up and get to the reset. What had even happened? She hadn't been damaged since the Icarus incident, and Brains and Virgil had both sworn through and through that she was fully functional again. There was _no reason_ for-

His holographic display lit up with the icon for Thunderbird Five.

Ah. Dammit. Virgil had got John on his case.

Reluctantly, he unmuted his comm and immediately got blasted with three brothers all yelling at him. The temptation was there to simply mute them again, but instead he sighed and leaned back in his chair, waiting for them to stop.

"-t mute your comms ever-"

"-swer us you-"

"-re you an idiot-"

They didn't, but their voices were getting more and more frantic, and he realised they were starting to panic at his lack of a response. He groaned.

"You don't need to shout, I can hear you just fine," he told them. "John, what are you doing with Thunderbird One?"

"Landing," his brother said abruptly. "You're just coming up over the Sahara so I'm putting you down there. Thunderbird Two is en route."

"This really isn't necessary," Scott complained. "Can't we deal with this at home?"

"You mean in another two hours, providing we don't get another callout or distraction so you can slip away again?" Virgil asked dryly. "No, we're doing this now, and if I find anything worse than a minor bruise you're finishing the trip home in Thunderbird Two's medbay."

Scott groaned, having absolutely no desire to be subjected to that. "Seriously, guys, I'm fine." Thunderbird One's VTOLs fired as her speed dropped, and he felt her land. Looking out of the viewing window, he saw sand and more sand. The Sahara, as John had promised.

"We'll be the judge of that," Gordon scowled.

"Thunderbird Two is five minutes out from your location," Virgil informed him coolly. "Stay where you are."

Thunderbird Five's insignia was still firmly ensconced in the holographic display, informing him that John had not retracted his override. As much as he wanted to, there was no way he was going anywhere until his brothers had satisfied themselves. He groaned again and eyed the medical cabinet once more. It was still too soon to take another dose, but he knew there was no way any of them would be letting him pilot the rest of the way home anyway.

The relief from pain would not be worth the lecture from Virgil and then Grandma. Reluctantly he turned away from it and closed his eyes, listening out for the engines of Thunderbird Two. His brothers kept the channel open, talking to each other and occasionally shooting a question his way – presumably to make sure he hadn't muted them again – which he answered reluctantly.

True to Virgil's words, five minutes after John had landed his 'bird there came the sound of Thunderbird Two's VTOL overhead, and he jabbed at his seat controls to leave his 'bird, seeing no point in sitting and waiting for them to descend on him when he'd be dragged into Thunderbird Two anyway. Some battles weren't worth fighting.

"Scott!" Virgil strode across the short distance between the two 'birds, grabbing his arm as soon as he was in reach as though he thought he'd flee if given the chance. With John still controlling his 'bird, Scott thought the gesture unnecessary. "You absolute _idiot_. Thunderbird Two, now." The hand gripping his bicep didn't give him much of a choice, forcibly guiding him towards the lowered hatch.

Gordon was waiting in the cockpit, arms crossed and eyes like fire. Beside him, the cockpit's stretcher had been lowered.

"Sit," Virgil snapped, dragging him over to it. Scott obeyed reluctantly, and scowled at the medical scanner immediately deployed. It didn't take long to flag up amber along his various bruises, and red at his ribs. He didn't hear what Virgil ground out under his breath, but he was fairly certain it wasn't language he'd use in front of their grandmother. "John, take One home. Scott's piloting nowhere."

"F.A.B." Scott knew his brother well enough to hear the anger in those three letters. His 'bird's VTOL roared to life and he watched her take to the sky through the cockpit windows.

"When did this happen, Scott?" Virgil demanded, setting the scanner to one side and tugging at his zip. Scott batted his hand away, taking over. He still had enough pride to not be undressed by his brother. Two sets of brown eyes narrowed dangerously as the bruising became visible.

Caught, there was nothing to be gained by lying. "Last mission, in the tunnels." A flash of guilt swept across Gordon's face.

"Why didn't you say anything?" the aquanaut demanded. He shrugged, hiding a wince when his body reminded him that the painkillers were all but worn off.

"Didn't exactly get the chance," he said. "Couldn't do anything about it at the time because we were trying not to become WRM food, then there was the thing with the Mechanic and the Hood, and the landowner wanted compensation for the damaged WRM and park, and-"

"And most of that could have waited for you to get checked over," Virgil interrupted, a hand – gentle, at odds with his angry tone – lightly touching his bruised torso. Scott's body instinctively flinched away from the contact. "Why the hell did you come out to Cornwall? Gordon and I could have handled it by ourselves."

"It was a rescue," Scott protested.

"Which you're now grounded from for six weeks, minimum," Virgil growled. "Lie down. What have you taken for the pain?"

He didn't get a chance to refuse before both brothers were carefully but firmly pushing him down onto the stretcher.

"Two Tylenol when I left the trash mine seven hours ago," he admitted. "Two more just before this mission, three hours ago." Virgil frowned.

"You'll have to bear with it until we get home," he said. "Once the Tylenol's out of your system, I'll give you something stronger." Scott scowled. "Gordon, get some ice on his ribs. Scott, stay _still_." Virgil had the gall to strap him down, avoiding putting pressure on his ribs. "We'll be talking about this when we get home."

It was a promise, but just before he turned away to head to his seat, Scott saw the one thing he'd hoped he'd be able to avoid: guilt. Virgil was well aware he'd missed the signs because of his flare-up about the topiary, and wouldn't be forgiving himself for it any time soon.

"Virg-" he started, only to interrupt himself with a hiss as a cool sensation spread across his chest. He closed his eyes briefly, before opening them to find Gordon stood next to him, ice pack in hand.

"Not right now, bro," the blond said quietly, and the same guilty pain was in his eyes. "Give him time."

"Gord-"

"And me," Gordon interrupted him. "Just… not yet, okay? Wait 'til we're home and you're all smothered better in the infirmary."

Scott didn't like it, but he understood it – they'd find it easier to deal with once they knew he really was okay. Broken ribs sucked, but in the grand scheme of injuries, they were relatively minor. The real fear his brothers carried was what if it had been worse – a punctured lung, for example.

In answer, he pulled a face, showing exactly what he thought of being 'smothered better' as Thunderbird Two roared to life beneath him. A small grin tugged at the corner of Gordon's mouth and he considered that progress, settling back as comfortably as he could as his brother's 'bird carried him home.

The journey passed in mostly silence, Virgil wrapped up in whatever thoughts were running through his head and Gordon controlling the ice compress. At one point, he set it to one side entirely in favour of retrieving a tub of Brains' anti-bruise cream. Compared to the ice, it was slightly warm to the touch as Gordon applied it liberally across his shoulders and torso; he couldn't stop his chest hitching at the touch and his brother gave an apologetic half-grin but didn't relent until Scott's bruises were entirely smeared with the stuff.

Scott was grateful for it – past experience told him that while it was no miracle cure, it would certainly help. With the painkillers almost entirely worn off, and well over an hour before Virgil would let him have any more for fear of an overdose, anything that would help dull the pain was welcome.

The chill of the returning ice pack some ten minutes later elicited an unexpected sigh of relief, which in turn seemed to coax another almost-smile from the brother standing over him.

But if he'd thought the rage of his brothers was intense, it was nothing compared to the short woman waiting with firmly crossed arms and eyes of steel when Scott emerged from Thunderbird Two back on Tracy Island two hours later, flanked on either side by brothers keeping him upright when his body wanted to curl up from the pain. He'd been spared the indignity of being stretchered out, Virgil adamant that the best thing for him was walking on his own two feet despite the pain, but was leaning rather heavily on his brothers. Without any painkillers, every breath sent stabs of agony through his torso.

There was no sympathy in Grandma's eyes as she'd ordered him to the infirmary. Scott had known better than to expect any, even though he would have preferred some – he was in the wrong for going out on another mission knowing he was injured, and Grandma wouldn't let that slide.

It wasn't a long walk, but even that wore him down as he stumbled his way through the hangar, brothers still keeping him steady up until they entered the room. One of the beds was already raised at the head, ready and waiting for a patient. Unless there was something Scott didn't know, they were only expecting one.

"Uniform," Grandma said firmly, arms still crossed. He was already stripped down to the waist from Virgil's initial check, and it was Virgil who held him up as Gordon ducked down to remove his greaves and boots before pulling the flight suit down his legs. Any protests Scott had about being able to deal with his own uniform were swallowed before given a chance to be vocalised. From the look in his grandmother's eye, he'd lost the right to his pride the moment he'd left for Cornwall.

That didn't make it any more enjoyable to stand in the middle of the infirmary in nothing more than his underwear. Thankfully, as soon as his uniform was gone Virgil guided him over to the prepared bed and insisted that he get on it. Scott didn't protest, and not only because his ribs were killing him. Grandma looked no more impressed than his first sight of her in the hangar, and if there was one person in the family Scott would never dare push too far, it was his grandmother.

She didn't say anything, just watched as Gordon folded up the dirty uniform and put it out of the way while Virgil rummaged around behind him for several seconds before returning with a needle. Scott looked away with a grimace as it headed for his arm. He hated needles – always had done, always would do – but after the prick of it pushing through his skin came the much-needed rush of relief. He sagged back against the raised head of the bed, tentatively taking deeper breaths now that the action didn't send stabs of agony through him, and let Virgil fuss with the covers.

"I'll take it from here, boys," Grandma said after a few moments. "You two go and get yourselves cleaned up."

"But-"

" _Now_ , Virgil." Favourite grandson or not, Virgil knew when not to push his luck. With one last look at Scott, brown eyes still dark with guilt and even some betrayal, he put a guiding hand on Gordon's shoulder and left the room, younger brother in tow. Scott watched them go with a heavy feeling in his chest that had nothing to do with his ribs.

Grandma cleared her throat, the noise loud in the silence, and he reluctantly turned his attention to her.

"I know you know better than this," she started. While he was normally taller than her, even with the bed in a reclining position she towered over him and Scott was reminded of being a young child having been caught climbing the tree he'd been forbidden from going near. "What on earth possessed you to get back in that pilot seat not once but _three_ times with a broken rib, young man? You're lucky it didn't cause more damage."

Scott thought back to the trash mine, Virgil storming off without a backwards glance and Gordon turning his back on him in order to get the surviving Pod secure in the module. Part of him wanted to say he hadn't had a choice that first time, his brothers totally ignoring him, but he knew that wasn't true. All it would have taken was a single call to John to get Thunderbird One remote piloted home, and on the miniscule chance even that hadn't alarmed Virgil and Gordon, he was perfectly capable of boarding the large green 'bird without their permission.

"I didn't want to upset them," he admitted. After whatever had set them both off, he'd thought giving them some space would be best, and they'd both feel awful about not noticing.

"Your brothers are big boys, Scott," Grandma cut through his protests. "Whatever little spat the three of you were having, you know they would have much rather you'd came clean at the time than find out the way they did." Scott winced. Finding out from someone they'd barely exchanged three sentences with was hardly the best way. "I don't care _what_ argument you boys get into, you all still have to trust each other on rescues or International Rescue will fall apart."

Her words stung. There was no doubt she knew that he'd been failing as a commander since they'd received the SOS from Braman. Gordon had even called him out on his distraction at the air show, reminding him that even though they were trying to save Dad, they still had a world to look after in the meantime. He'd been right then, and Grandma was right now.

"I'm sorry," he sighed. "I messed up."

"You did, but I'm not the only one you need to apologise to," Grandma replied, perching on the edge of his bed. "I want you to stay in here tonight." He agreed, and after a moment she made her way to her feet again. "Now then, I need to talk to your brothers."

"No!" he protested, reaching out for her wrist to stop her. "Please." _Don't scold them_. He knew he was in the wrong, but he couldn't let his brothers be punished for his poor judgement.

For the first time since the hangar, Grandma softened. "I think they're punishing themselves enough," she assured him, before stepping back towards him and gently cupping his cheek with her hand. "It would help everyone if you looked out for yourself like you do your brothers, Scott." He blinked at her, not quite comprehending her point – it was his responsibility to look after his brothers – and she gave him an almost sad smile before leaving the room.

His hand, no longer holding her wrist, fell to his side limply.

Despite everything, he found weariness creeping up on him. It was gone two in the morning, the day had been a disaster from beginning to end, and by the time two figures slinked back into the room, a third flickering into view, he was fast asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As we're dealing with 3.23 "Venom" watch out for spiders!

Scott had been grounded many times in his life, for a wide variety of reasons, but being grounded thanks to a broken rib was one of the most frustrating. The combination of painkillers and rest meant that after two weeks he felt perfectly fit, but every time he tried to reinstate himself on active duty his brothers dragged him straight back to the infirmary for another scan to prove to him that just because he didn't feel it didn't mean the rib wasn't still broken.

At least his brief spat with his brothers had come to an end; as he'd predicted, a night to sleep on it and the whole thing was water under the bridge, proven by a stretchy toy sat on the table by a tray of breakfast when he'd woken up. Conversations had been had with all of his brothers, including Alan despite the youngest not being directly involved in either rescue, apologies offered and accepted, and everything had returned to normal.

Normal except for the presence of the Mechanic in their home. The man kept himself to himself, rarely seen outside of Brains' lab, and never without Brains himself, but while intellectually Scott knew he'd been used by the Hood and genuinely wanted to fix his mistakes, he couldn't forget Thunderbird Two crashing to the ground, Thunderbird Four torn in half and Thunderbird Three locked in a deadly battle – let alone the TV-21's fate.

He knew they needed the Mechanic's help; he knew that the Mechanic hadn't once done anything to any of them since the Hood's control had been removed, he knew Kayo owed her life to him after the mess that had been their visit to the Hex. That didn't mean he trusted the man, and ordinarily that wouldn't have been a problem. He'd have buried himself in rescues, kept his brothers away from the man and trusted Brains and MAX to keep an eye on him.

Unfortunately, Scott was banned from not just rescues, but leaving the villa at all until his ribs were fully healed, and he'd never done well at being cooped up, even without being in constant close proximity to a man who had almost killed three of his brothers. With nothing else to do, he found himself growing more and more agitated about the entire situation – being grounded, the T-Drive still being built so Dad was still stuck there _waiting_ in the Oort Cloud, close proximity with the Mechanic – and his temper quickly latched on to the obvious target.

It was honestly a surprise it took five weeks for it to come to a head, the Mechanic's patience with him running out at the same time his inner frustrations exploded, leaving an uncharacteristically bold Brains to intervene. If not for Virgil and Kayo's timely interruption, Scott had no idea how that confrontation would have ended.

On a surprising upside, it got him off the island, although it rankled a bit when Kayo eased herself into the co-pilot's chair and he was reminded that _technically_ he was still grounded and only along for the ride. Considering the nature of the mission, it was obvious that he was only along as an extra pair of eyes.

Painkillers stashed in his baldric at Virgil's insistence – while he didn't need them much anymore, occasional flare-ups happened and on a mission was a likely time for one to occur – he reluctantly slumped into Alan's usual seat behind Virgil.

"So what exactly are we looking for?" he asked.

"Dr. Furnier got bitten by a Creeping Banana spider and the drone delivering the antivenom's been lost," Kayo leaned back to tell him. "We've got both the co-ordinates of Dr. Furnier's position and the last known location of the drone, so Virgil's going to drop me off in a Pod to look for the drone while he heads to Dr. Furnier's location to see what he can do."

"What am I doing?"

"Your choice, big brother," Virgil informed him cheerily. "But if you do anything to worsen your ribs I'm grounding you for even longer." Scott knew better than to consider that an empty threat, and also knew that Virgil was hoping against hope that he'd stay in Thunderbird Two like a good technically-still-grounded person. He also knew that Virgil knew his hope was unlikely to happen.

"I'll go with Kayo," he decided, and chose to ignore the eyerolls he got from his siblings. "We should find it faster with two people looking."

"F.A.B.," Kayo agreed. "But I'm still piloting."

Scott rolled his eyes but decided that battle wasn't worth fighting.

"Remember, we're on a time limit," Virgil informed them. "Dr. Furnier needs that antivenom as soon as possible or he'll die – and if either of you get yourselves bitten I'll murder you myself, got it? There's only enough antivenom for one person."

"I'll make sure Scott's careful," Kayo promised, ignoring his _hey!_ Virgil gave a chuckle in return.

"You, too, Kayo," he cautioned.

"I'm always careful," she scoffed. If Scott didn't know her, he'd think she was offended at the accusation, but there was a glimmer of a smile on her face as she said it. No, his siblings were teasing each other – and him.

"I'll keep an eye on her," he chimed in, and they both had the audacity to laugh at him.

"Joking aside, time is of the essence," Virgil reminded them. "We'll be at the drone's last known position in a few minutes so you'd better get that Pod set up."

"F.A.B.," they chorused, both releasing their safety belts to stand up.

"And Scott?"

"Hmm?"

"Take it easy, okay?" There was no teasing in Virgil's voice any more, just a quiet yet sincere plea.

"I'll do my best," he promised, equally sincere. He couldn't swear he would, not when there was always a risk on rescues, even one as seemingly-simple as this one, but he could promise to try and he knew that was what Virgil was asking.

"I'll keep an eye on him," Kayo added, echoing their joking from earlier but now equally as serious as them. "Come on, Scott."

Perfectly aware that he'd been nudged out of his role of commander and into Alan's usual role of lowest-ranking operative, he followed her into the module as she set up a Dragonfly Pod – and accidentally revealed her fear of an insect they might encounter. Whether it was a true accident or an attempt to distract him from the fact that she was the one headed for the pilot's seat he wasn't entirely sure, but the idea that Kayo had arachnophobia had never occurred to him before. She seemed far too feisty to be afraid of any spiders.

Virgil gave them a brief warning before there was the distinctive noise of the module being released. Unlike a Thunderbird Four drop they were only lowered slowly until the door could open and Kayo directed the Pod to pounce out into the air.

Dragonfly Pods were much more comfortable when you were sat in one of the designated seats, rather than clinging to the outside by the tips of your fingers. Scott didn't let himself think about that too hard, instead focusing on his scanner for locating the drone in question. As Virgil had said, it wasn't far from where they were, but even their smaller wingspan wasn't enough to get them below the treetops.

He spied a bare tree that looked sturdy enough and directed Kayo down to it, already making plans to climb down and see some action. Yes, he'd promised to be careful, but he'd been climbing trees his entire life. He could handle that with a five-week old healing rib.

It turned out that he didn't need to convince Kayo to let him out, because by the time he'd finished his initial reasoning the tree had decided it didn't like being landed on by a giant mechanical bug and dropped them all the way to the jungle floor.

_Ouch_.

The impact jarred his rib uncomfortably and he couldn't quite swallow the gasp of pain.

"Scott, are you okay?" Kayo asked, her voice full of concern. She twisted in her seat to look back at him, eyes wide, and he gave her what he hoped was a reassuring grin.

"I'm all good," he promised, pushing up his harness. "How's the Pod?" The roof lifted up and he jumped out onto an extended leg as she ran diagnostics. Thankfully, they'd only lost the wings and it was otherwise still functional. After his confrontation with Brains and the Mechanic, he really didn't want to have to face the engineers with another destroyed Pod – especially not Brains.

Even more thankfully, they'd found the drone, although typically it was now up near the top of the same tree that had just dropped them all the way to the floor and now they had to climb _up_. Kayo's challenge of a climbing race told him that she was reassured his rib hadn't worsened in the crash, which he was grateful for. He was less grateful for the fact that he'd _lost_ said race. True, time was of the essence, and his rib was twinging so he was far slower than usual, but that didn't do much to soothe his pride when she dropped down from ahead of him to climb along the branch in question.

He hung back by the trunk. The tree had already proven that it was all too willing to drop them down, and he was really tempting fate by being up there with a healing rib as it was. Kayo was lighter and also more agile; the branch was less likely to collapse under her weight, and he was ready with a helping hand in case she had to beat a hasty retreat.

Until a leaf – a _leaf_ , of all things – settled on top of the drone and the tree decided enough was enough. Torn between darting for the security of the trunk and getting to Kayo, he didn't manage to get back in time before the entire branch parted company with the tree, dropping them straight into the water.

_Ouch_. It wasn't quite as bad as being dropped back onto the ground, which would have certainly thrown him straight back in the infirmary with his sister for company, but it still hurt. With the combination of the sharp pain and the strong current of the stream bashing him against the rocks enclosing the waterway, he definitely fell short of Gordon's minimum requirements for water competence, and it was luck more than skill that found him clinging to the branch again as they were spat out at the top of a waterfall.

Well, he was. Kayo ended up halfway _down_ the waterfall, clinging to the edge of the very rotten branch. Scott was hyper conscious of the long drop if she lost her grip – or it broke. The pain in his ribs wasn't enough to stop him from moving to help her when her attempt to climb back up ended in her falling further. It certainly wasn't enough to stop him going straight for his grapple when it broke as he'd feared, aiming and shooting a line at his sister for her to catch.

He wasn't suicidal enough to call Kayo _heavy_ , and she certainly didn't rate as such compared to half the people he'd rescued, but the sudden jerk as his arms and braced chest took the entirety of her weight did nothing to help the pain lancing through his ribs again. Virgil and Grandma were going to kill him for this, even if it wasn't really his fault.

Speaking of Virgil, his brother's sudden reminder about their time limit, while no doubt necessary on his end, could hardly have come at a worse time as Scott realised his lunge to catch Kayo, while successful, had put him over the edge of the outcrop the branch was balancing on. Even if his chest wasn't in pain, he wasn't sure he'd have made it back without it falling – physics was still physics, as John liked to mention. As it was, both his and Kayo's survival relied on his core strength keeping him balanced while also not dropping his sister.

Ordinarily, that would have been a strain, but doable. Now, it was agony, and he needed a solution sooner rather than later, which Kayo thankfully found in the form of a ledge in the cliff. Getting her there was more of a challenge, and by the time she managed to cling on more than a few grunts of pain had passed his lips. She didn't comment on it, saving her breath for more immediate concerns like summoning their Pod – since when was it coded to respond to 'here boy'? – but he knew she heard them.

As he watched the Pod clamber down the cliff edge, he made the mistake of thinking the worst was over. Kayo could secure the line to the Pod, he could secure the other end to the outcrop, and then it would be a case of ziplining across. His ribs wouldn't _like_ it, but they'd manage. The tree branch had other ideas, overbalancing despite his best efforts and pitching him down the waterfall.

It was purely instinct that had him still clinging to his grapple, arms wrenching sharply from his own weight – greater than Kayo's – as he fell, trusting Kayo to do something to stop his fall. He couldn't see what she'd done, exactly, but when he realised he was swinging – fast – towards the cliff face, he assumed she'd found something to hook her end of the cable onto.

The impact, mostly absorbed by his legs, had him crying out in pain as his ribs heaved.

"Scott!" Kayo yelled, and as he hung limply from his arms, fingers locked around the grapple, he glanced up to see her head poking out from the ledge, looking down at him worriedly.

"I'm okay," he wheezed, hoping he was imagining the tremble in his arms. Calling on his core muscles again – which after five weeks of minimal use were not appreciating the sudden work out either – he managed to raise his feet to connect with the cliff again, knowing the best way was to walk up. Knowing that Kayo would have secured his line, he used the grapple to shorten the cable, pulling himself up until he managed to reach the ledge.

Kayo pulled him up as soon as he was in arms' reach, helping him clamber up next to her, where he paused, using dismantling his grapple as an excuse. From the narrowing of her eyes, she wasn't convinced.

"Scott, I know we're on a time limit, but on a scale of one to ten how much worse are your ribs after that?" she asked, rummaging around in the Pod.

"Maybe a three?" he hedged, stowing his grapple pack back in his baldric and replacing the grapple itself at his hip before pulling himself to his feet with the help of a nearby Pod leg.

"On what, the Gordon Scale?" she asked sharply, clearly disbelieving. He rolled his eyes.

"On the Gordon Scale it wouldn't even register," he retorted. "But like you said, we're on a time limit so let's move." His attempts to get into the Pod were foiled by her turning around and stepping right up to him, nimble fingers darting into the baldric pouch containing the painkillers.

"Take them," she ordered, a bottle of water thrust at him alongside the pills. Realising it would do more harm than good to both the mission and his body not to, he obeyed, popping back the medicine with a swig of water while Kayo carefully manoeuvred the Pod into a position where they could more easily scramble inside. "You first." She knelt down and cupped her hands, giving him a step to use. Normally he wouldn't need the help, but he'd already suffered enough damage on a supposedly harmless mission and wasn't interested in worsening the lecture he was due for. With a grunt that was half effort and half painkillers still kicking in, he accepted the boost, settling in the passenger seat as comfortably as he could and stowing the water bottle as she clambered into the driver's seat once more.

Travelling down cliff faces head first was always an interesting experience. With the Pod's wings gone, they were at the mercy of its grips and gravity, and Scott tried not to let himself lean too heavily into the harness holding him in place with minimal success. During their descent, the painkillers kicked in properly and the pain in his ribs was finally dulled by the time he spotted the damaged, grounded drone on the opposite side of the stream.

Kayo jumped out and hopped across with a determined aura. He watched her go before remembering that he should probably be helping, climbing out and following her at a slightly slower pace – which gave him a front row seat to the thing neatly evading her attempt to grab it, and a sinking feeling.

Earlier, when they'd been spat out on top of the waterfall, he'd wished for his jetpack. Now, he wished for his own Thunderbird, and more specifically her drones. It had taken a combination of them to capture the camera drone on the mountainside, and despite his and Kayo's best attempts – Kayo's better than his; painkillers dulled the pain but he was still aware he couldn't lunge and dive for it the way he ordinarily would – it danced just out of reach before eventually settling on a branch. Even if they dared climb another tree in this jungle, by the time they got there it would just take off again.

Scott had always despised the kids who thought it was funny to throw stones at animals, and in turn had found it karma whenever the cornered animal eventually fought back, but as the drone wandered from side to side – he agreed with Kayo's assessment that it was taunting them – and he caught sight of some loose stones on the ground, he wondered if that was the answer. It wasn't like the thing was _actually_ an animal, after all.

When it came to him and Kayo, their marksmanship was pretty equal. However, in their current conditions, Kayo was far more mobile than him and had a much better shot of catching it if – hopefully _when_ – it decided to attack him, so Scott unanimously selected himself as the bait. Even though he was fairly certain overarm throwing was another thing he probably shouldn't be doing. The painkillers kept the worst of his body's protests at bay, but the grunts he let out weren't entirely down to exertion. Kayo eyed him disapprovingly as she checked in with Virgil, letting him know about the delay.

Just like the poor cornered animals, the drone took its sweet time deciding it had had enough of stones being pelted its way; Scott's hastily scavenged ammunition was running low by the time it chirped angry-robot noises at him and Kayo ducked behind a rock, out of sight as the small machine divebombed him. It was small and lightweight enough that chances were it wouldn't do much damage if it actually collided with him – at least, if his ribs were intact – but thankfully he didn't have to test that hypothesis as Kayo's aim was true.

Unfortunately, it appeared the drone could lift a fair amount of weight, and Kayo found herself being carried around as she fought to find the power switch. Scott should have been able to catch her with ease – it was hardly the first time he'd caught someone dangling precariously from a rope or similar – but he hadn't been this physically active since the trash mine, and his body decided that now Kayo had hold of the drone, adrenaline was no longer a requirement, leaving him feeling suddenly quite tired. Thankfully, Kayo proved to not need his help, powering down the frustrating little drone and wrestling the antivenom away from it.

He had a brief moment of panic about how long it had taken them, and how they'd get all the way to Dr. Furnier's base with a wingless Pod fast enough, when familiar VTOLs sounded overhead. He grinned in relief as Thunderbird Two came into view, lowering until it was possible for Kayo to grapple her way up into the module, antivenom in hand, and run for the medbay and their patient.

Far more tired than he was happy with, Scott scooped up the deactivated drone and made his way back to the Pod, settling in the driver's seat to nudge it directly underneath the bay doors and remotely engaging one of Thunderbird Two's high tensile cables to latch on to the Pod, drawing it – and by extension, him – up inside the bay. By the time he made it to the medbay, a man who had to have been Dr. Furnier was sitting up and talking, clearly reacting well to the antivenom that had given them so many problems.

Satisfied with a rescue – finally – well done, he made to put down the drone by a sample jar, only to realise it was carelessly lying on its side with the lid off. Virgil was never that careless, and the panic on his brother's face, compounded by the cry of "the spider" from the expert told him that Virgil's adventure hadn't been entirely smooth either.

And that there was a spider, presumably the same one responsible for the whole mess in the first place, loose on Thunderbird Two. He knew for a fact they didn't have any more of the antivenom – if they _did_ , Virgil would have used it rather than waiting for them – and the hospital didn't have any in stock either. That was not good, and he froze at the command not to move, seeing Virgil do the same.

Kayo did not freeze, instead crouching down and bobbing back up a moment later with a large and vibrantly coloured spider with somewhat intimidating fangs in a clear specimen box. From Virgil and Dr. Furnier's reactions, that meant crisis averted, although Scott couldn't help casting a suspicious eye over the rest of the medbay to make sure there hadn't been more than one. Gordon would complain about messing up ecosystems if they brought any back to the island, and he didn't think he could live with the knowledge there was a spider that deadly on the same island where his brothers lived.

No sign of webbing, and no more bright orange blobs of spider, had him reassured and he remembered as Virgil relocated to the cockpit to get their passenger to Rio's hospital – just to be on the safe side – that he'd thought Kayo was _afraid_ of spiders. Despite everything that had happened, and perhaps because of the lecture he knew was coming his way, his curiosity was piqued over what insect could possibly have her so afraid if not a spider – and now he felt stupid, because spiders weren't even insects.

That it was butterflies gave him a much-needed laugh – and part of him wondered if it really _was_ butterflies or if that was her intention, although he couldn't see any of her usual tells for lying – and also successfully distracted Virgil long enough for them to get to the hospital and drop off Dr. Furnier, who seemed delighted to be safe and well. Not an unusual reaction for someone they'd just saved, and Scott once again felt that warm happy glow he never told his brothers about for a job well done. It had been a while since the last one – neither the trash mine or the following Cornwall mine had ended on a positive note, despite the rescues being a success.

A hand landed on his shoulder and he looked around to see brown eyes surveying him intently.

"Kayo said you had to take the painkillers," Virgil observed, because of course his sister had run straight to Virgil with that bit of information. "Let me see."

"It's fine," he protested. "Just a precaution, that's all."

"A precaution after our Pod crashed, we fell out of a tree – _twice_ – got tossed around underwater and then spat over the edge of a waterfall and had to climb up a cliff?" Kayo asked innocently.

"Hey, that happened to you, too!" Scott protested, over Virgil's horrified _what_.

"Both of you sit down and let me have a look at you," their brother demanded. "What happened to this being a simple search and rescue?"

"Someone jinxed it by calling it 'simple'?" Scott offered, making a dash for the co-pilot's chair and beating Kayo to it by pure virtue of already having been closest. Kayo glowered but settled in the chair behind him.

Virgil growled, although whether it was at his words or their antics, Scott wasn't sure. Doing up the safety belt so there was one more reason not to turf him out of his victory seat, he sat back and let Virgil run the medical scanner over him. The events of the trash mine and Grandma's subsequent scolding were still too recent for him to kick up his usual fuss, even though he feared his recovery had taken a major set-back.

The scan flagging up a red in amongst the various ambers he knew had to be bruises from the multiple falls was most unwelcome.

"Kayo, I thought you said you would keep an eye on him?" Virgil demanded. Behind him, Kayo sighed.

"I did!" she protested. "He stayed in the back of the Pod, didn't do anything strenuous except throw some rocks and climb a cliff face – which needed to be done, by the way – and was the most hands off I think I've ever seen him on a rescue. We just got unlucky. A lot."

"Well that bad luck's just landed Scott at least another three weeks of grounding," Virgil grumbled, and Scott groaned. "It might be more."

"More?" Scott whined. "I only came out on this mission because you _asked_." And because he'd been going stir-crazy in the house, so his family had probably been looking for an excuse to get him out of it. "I didn't even know about it until you came looking for me!"

"I know," Virgil sighed, looking and sounding apologetic as he put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, this wasn't supposed to have any risk; I would never have brought you along if I'd known this would happen."

Scott looked up at him, his brother's brown eyes once again full of guilt, and pulled a small smile onto his face that he hoped was reassuring.

"I know," he said, covering the warm hand with his own. "I'm sorry, it wasn't your fault. I should have stayed on Thunderbird Two like you wanted."

Virgil gave a rue smile. "I'm glad you didn't; I almost didn't notice the spider, and considering how today went, you'd probably have been bitten if you'd also stayed."

Scott chuckled. "Yeah, that would've been bad," he agreed. "That would've been really- look out!"

He shoved Virgil to the side, getting just enough purchase to catch his younger brother off guard and force him to stumble a step away. The bright orange blob of spider he'd seen at the last second descending from the cockpit ceiling missed Virgil by scant inches, but instead landed on Scott's outstretched arm, crawling along his bracer and coming to a stop just above them, near his elbow.

He froze, holding his breath and hoping – really hoping – that he wasn't about to find out if those dangerous looking fangs could get through neoprene.

"Scott!" Kayo and Virgil both moved, but he didn't dare take his eyes off the spider regarding his arm to see what they were doing. They didn't keep sample jars in the cockpit – there was no need to – but he heard a locker opening as one of his siblings presumably hunted for something to trap it with.

Huh, its legs were striped with black and its body was actually really quite hairy. Scott hadn't noticed that with the previous one he'd seen, and wasn't entirely certain now was the best time to register that, either. Not when it reared suddenly, fangs on full display, and stabbed down at his uniform.

For a moment he thought it was okay, that the neoprene had been tougher than the fangs, but then he felt it.

Two tiny, needle-like pinpricks.

Uh oh.

"Scott!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is where my inner whumper comes out to play (whoops). This was supposed to be where the fic finished, but then my muse went 'if Dr. Furnier got bit because there was a second one, what's to say only one got onto Thunderbird Two?' The spider Kayo caught didn't look like the one that almost bit Virgil to me, anyway. Looked a lot smaller and paler.


	3. Chapter 3

A flash of blue and the spider was gone, stuck inside a jar he was fairly sure was supposed to contain medicine, but he wasn't really looking at that. He was more interested in where the spider had been; he hadn't noticed earlier, but it turned out that multiple falls and probably more importantly being bashed around underwater could wear neoprene down, just a bit. The sleeve was worn down, just a little, where the spider had stopped.

His arm flopped down, unwilling to stay extended any longer as something a little like pins and needles started.

"Scott!" Virgil cried again, catching his arm and scrutinising it closely. He saw the exact moment Virgil realised the neoprene was damaged as his usually tanned brother went sheet white. "Please tell me it didn't get through."

"While I'm really wishing I imagined the pricks, the pins and needles aren't giving me much hope," Scott admitted.

"There isn't any more antivenom," Kayo reminded them, her voice high with badly-concealed panic. Scott knew that, had been panicking about that same thing earlier when he'd realised Virgil had had a too-close brush with the spider.

"Well we'll just have to- _woah_." His attempt to reassure them was interrupted by his equilibrium taking a sharp shift, his head rolling down until he jerked it back up. Oh, that really wasn't good. Nor was the fact that Virgil seemed like he had two-one-three heads, all looking at him in sheer horror. He blinked, trying to get the world to stop shifting in and out of focus.

There was a clunk, familiar but its cause escaping Scott, and then there were hands on the safety belt around his hips, yanking it open before warm arms scooped him up. He squinted up at Virgil's face – faces, if the world could stop spinning and duplicating, triplicating things that would be really useful – as he found himself being laid down on, oh, that had been the clunk.

His bitten arm hung limply over the edge of the stretcher; it was uncomfortable but Scott didn't even try to pull it up. Keep the bite below the heart, slow the venom's spread as much as possible. Basic first aid.

Virgil moved back, away from his eyeline, and he realised what had been bothering him.

"Helmet," he demanded. They didn't know how many spiders there were; this made at least two to have invaded the Thunderbird. Virgil's uniform was thicker than his, better padded against the heavy lifting he did, but the spider had been on course for his bare neck before he'd intervened. Kayo, too, needed to cover up.

There was a tugging on his arm, bracer unclipping and falling to the cockpit floor with a thud.

"No," he protested, moving it out of reach and gritting his teeth when the movement _burned_. "Helmet first."

"Scott-" Virgil started, but Scott shook his head. The movement made him feel nauseous.

"Helmet on," he ordered. They had to, had to protect themselves against any more. "Please."

Virgil hesitated, clearly torn between checking the wound and calming him down, but Kayo intervened.

"Here," she said, placing Virgil's helmet on his head without his permission. "Scott's right," she added, drowning out his protest as she secured her own. "If there are more, we can't risk being bitten as well."

"More?" Virgil asked, his voice strangled, and Scott realised he was panicking, hadn't even realised the danger.

"I'll do a full sweep of the craft," Kayo told him. "You focus on Scott."

"Careful," Scott insisted, fixing the blur of duller blue he assumed was his sister with a look that was supposed to be commanding. Whether it came out that way, he didn't know.

"I will," she promised. "Worry about yourself."

Worrying about himself meant first accepting what had happened, and Scott knew enough to know that panicking would do more harm than good, spiking his heart rate and pumping the venom round faster.

Virgil had reclaimed his arm and pulled his glove off while he was talking to Kayo, and a distinctive _shiiiiip_ told him his sleeve was being cut away.

"John," Virgil called, voice still tight with panic. "Thunderbird Five, I need you _now_."

"What's happened?" John's voice was a welcome sound, calm and reassuring. All _International Rescue here, we'll fix your problem_. He'd always been good at that. "Virgil, your heart rate's unusually high."

"I need antivenom for a Creeping Banana spider bite," Virgil bit out. Scott felt his sleeve peel away from his arm all the way up to his shoulder, exposing the site of the bite to the cockpit air. "Where can I get it?"

"What happened?" John repeated, some urgency slipping into his tone. Scott couldn't see him, but he knew John would be pulling up every supplier in the world. "There-"

"Scott's been bitten," Virgil choked out. Warm neoprene gloves pressed against his elbow, near the bite, and Scott couldn't help a gasp as pain flared up.

John didn't swear, but Scott was fairly sure that if he was any less in control of the words that slipped from his mouth, he would have done.

"Okay," he said instead, sounding like he was forcibly projecting an air of calm. "Rio hospital hasn't got a new shipment yet. What's the time frame?"

"Two minutes since the bite," Virgil told him, his hand sliding down Scott's arm to his fingertips and giving his hand a quick squeeze. It could have been for reassurance, but Scott recognised it as a test and squeezed back, gasping as he did so. "No signs of nerve damage yet, but he's in pain and I don't think he can see me properly."

With Virgil down below his eyeline, he couldn't see him at all without moving, and moving was probably a bad idea. Scott focused on breathing, keeping his breaths deep and regular and glad he'd already taken painkillers so his ribs weren't kicking up a fuss as well.

His siblings would do everything in their not-inconsiderable power to get him the antivenom in time. He just had to trust them, and he did. He trusted his siblings with his life every time he went on a mission, and this was no different; the fact that he was literally going to die if they couldn't save him did nothing but increase that faith.

"Head for home," John said after a few moments.

"We don't have the right antivenom at home!" Virgil protested. "If we don't pick any up it won't matter where we are!"

"Head for home," John repeated, more forcibly. "There's nowhere you could get to in time."

"I'm not giving up!" Virgil spat. "There-"

"I said _nothing_ about giving up," John overrode him. "Trust me: _head for home_."

Scott felt Virgil's hesitation, his frustration at being powerless, and squeezed the hand still holding his again.

"John's right," he managed, taking another deep breath as the nerves in his arm bubbled with fire.

"Scott!" Virgil finally stood up, returning to his eye line. There were somewhere between three and four Virgils looking down at him in open concern and guilt, and Scott smiled at all of them.

"It's okay," he told him. "Let's go h-ah-home." John had a plan, he knew he did. John _always_ had a plan, and Scott hadn't survived twenty-seven years by ignoring his younger, smarter brother. Virgil was blaming himself, even with several fuzzy versions of his face in his vision, Scott could see that clear as day. The multitudes of Virgils frowned, but they moved. Too-familiar straps lassoed his body, keeping him firmly on the stretcher, and then he couldn't see any Virgils.

"Kayo, hold on to something," he heard his brother call. "We're moving."

"Holding on." Her voice came out of a comm somewhere, probably near the console. Thunderbird Two's VTOLs roared to life beneath them, Virgil's 'bird screaming her displeasure at the situation as she took to the sky far faster than Virgil usually let her. "What's the plan?"

"We're going home," Virgil told her, tone clipped. "John's orders." The powerful rear engines took over, exploding with the noise that gave the Thunderbirds their name as Virgil gunned his 'bird as fast as she would go.

"Where are we getting an antivenom?" she asked. "Even at top speed it's an hour and a half to Tracy Island from here." They all knew that – it was how long they'd taken to get to the rainforest in the first place. It felt so much longer now. So, so, much longer.

"John didn't say," Virgil ground out. "He just said to trust him and go home." Virgil _did_ trust John, Scott knew that, but he could also tell that Virgil was unnerved at the lack of what he considered the most vital information.

"So that's what we'll do," Kayo said firmly. "I'm not seeing any more spiders, but keep your helmet on just in case. I'm coming back."

Scott didn't know if he should be reassured or not that she hadn't found any more. No spiders was good news, but it left him with the paranoid feeling that Kayo just hadn't _found_ one. His siblings were protected by their undamaged uniforms and helmets, but there was part of him – mostly buried because if he paid too much attention to it he'd start panicking – that realised he was still vulnerable to another bite.

"How's Scott doing?" she asked.

"About as well as expected." Virgil's voice was flat. "There's not much we can do without the antivenom."

The door swung open and Scott blinked at the dull blue blur that walked through. As Kayo approached him she gradually gained definition, but multiplied.

"How are you holding up?" she asked. Three hands reached for his shoulder but he only felt one rest there.

"Holding," he rasped, trying to give her a reassuring smile. A throb of pain from his bitten arm turned it into more of a grimace. From the look he thought he could see on her face, she wasn't at all reassured.

"Virgil, I'll pilot," she said, squeezing his shoulder briefly before letting her hand drop. Scott watched her leave his line of vision, heading for his brother. He didn't expect her to succeed in getting Virgil away from the controls – _no-one_ got Virgil to surrender the controls of Thunderbird Two if he was already piloting.

No more words were exchanged, but he blinked and Virgil was there in front of him, all blurry four-three of him.

"Right then," Virgil said, his hand resting where Kayo's had been a moment earlier. "How are you really doing?" Scott scowled at the insinuation that he wasn't being truthful, but didn't protest as Virgil pulled out the medical scanner again. His multiple faces frowned. "Your blood pressure is dropping."

"That's not good," he muttered, and Virgil shook his head in agreement.

"I don't want to compensate it too much otherwise there's the risk it'll jump too high, but I can't leave it to keep dropping," he said, rummaging around in the cabinet by Scott's feet. He knew that cabinet but didn't like it, closing his eyes rather than watch the drip being prepared and inserted into his arm. Scott couldn't say it made him feel any better, but he suspected the best he could hope for was to not feel _worse_ as the venom circulated through his body.

After a moment, he opened his eyes again only to find his vision had blurred further. Blue and green told him his brother was still by his side, but he couldn't make out his face.

"Scott?" Virgil asked. He sounded worried. "Are you back?"

"Didn't go anywhere," he protested, but it came out sounding more like _dingowhrrrrr_. And he felt sick.

"You passed out on me," Virgil informed him. "Try not to do that again, okay?"

"I did?" he asked, swallowing painfully as nausea grumbled and bile threatened the back of his throat. He didn't remember passing out, but he also hadn't been feeling this terrible. "Sorry."

"Not your fault," Virgil insisted. Well, no, it was the spider's fault, but that didn't mean Scott didn't feel bad about panicking his brother.

"How long?" he asked, trying to look around for some clue. His eyes refused to co-operate, giving him nothing more than the green blur of Thunderbird Two and the blue of his brother's uniform.

"About fifteen minutes," Virgil told him. "How are you feeling?" It was a pretty redundant question, considering he'd been bitten by a venomous spider some, what, twenty, twenty-five minutes ago, and was presumably no closer to receiving the antivenom he needed than last time he'd been conscious.

"Been better," he managed, trying for some levity but aware it was falling flat. The fact that he was struggling to string together more than two words at a time didn't escape him, and he had a feeling it wasn't escaping Virgil either.

" _Scott_." No, he wasn't fooling his brother at all. "I know you can't see me, and that your blood pressure's low. What else?"

"Can," he corrected. "See you." He vaguely attempted to gesture in his direction with his unbitten arm, only to find it captured by a warm gloved hand and gently pressed back to the stretcher.

"Don't avoid the question," Virgil scolded. "Nausea? Pain? Losing sensation anywhere?"

"Yes," Scott admitted, pulling a face. "Yes… No?" Unbidden, his voice slid up a few notes at the end, turning his assertion that he hadn't lost feeling into a question. Frowning, he tried to move his fingers. His arm flared up, but he felt the digits twitch.

Virgil cupped his fingers in a warm gloved hand, kneading them gently.

"Let me know if you stop feeling anything," he instructed, although it sounded more like a plea. "Do you think you could stomach some water?" Scott considered it, but the bile was still there in his throat and the idea of throwing up all over himself was decidedly unwelcome. He gently rocked his head from side to side in a _no_.

"Okay." Virgil didn't sound happy about that, and Scott winced. The blue got closer and a hand touched his forehead. "I wish I could do more, dammit. I hate this!" Scott tried to give him a reassuring smile. "No, you don't get to smile like everything's fine," Virgil snapped. The hand left his forehead and rested on the pulse point on his neck instead. "If we don't get that antivenom soon you're going to _die_ , Scott. You're dying and there's _nothing I can do about it_!"

Scott didn't stop smiling, blinking to try and clear his vision just a bit. "Trust," he rasped. "I trust… you."

"But-" Virgil protested. The hand that had been kneading his fingers shifted its grip, holding his hand firmly but gently. Scott squeezed his hand with as much strength as he could find.

"You'll find a way," he told him, his voice faint even to his own ears. John had a plan; he didn't know what it was, but he knew he had one. "I know you… will." His eyelids were heavy again, and this time he could feel the grasping hands of sleep reaching out for him, clinging to him firmly and dragging him down. He could have fought them, struggled to remain awake, but the battle would spur his body's adrenaline into action and he was still conscious that the less he fought _himself_ the longer his body would hold out against the venom.

There wasn't much he could do to help his brothers, but he could buy them time. The hands tugged and he let himself fall.

When he next opened his eyes, everything looked just as it had done earlier. Thunderbird Two's green dominated his vision, with a blur of blue leaning over him. Despite that, it was clear that some time had passed; fresh air cycled around his mouth and nose, the light pressure of a rebreather sealed across his lower face, but more alarmingly, he couldn't feel anything past his elbow. Attempts to twitch his fingers ended with no apparent success and for the first time the panic he'd been keeping at bay crept past his barriers.

"-running out of time, John!" Virgil sounded terrified. "His blood pressure's through the floor and I don't have anything left to try."

"I'm working on it, Virgil." He didn't raise his voice, but Scott could hear the stress seeping through John's words regardless. "How much longer do you think he has?"

"At this rate, he won't make it home," Virgil snapped. "I don't know if it's because he was already injured, or if he's reacting to it, but he's deteriorating faster than Dr. Furnier did."

"It's likely that Dr. Furnier had built up some resistance considering his line of work," John acknowledged. "Keep doing what you can. Don't give up; you know Scott's fighting with all he's got."

"I know," Virgil muttered. "I know." The blue blur shifted, then Virgil gasped. "Scott! You're awake?"

The rebreather didn't give him much of a chance to talk, but he attempted to nod, only to wince as his head rebelled at the movement.

"Easy," Virgil soothed. A gloved hand slid underneath his head, raising it slightly as the rebreather was removed. "Better?"

"Yeah," he rasped. "How long?"

"Half an hour this time," Virgil told him. That made it an hour, more or less, since the bite. The recording of Dr. Furnier's dramatic _I don't mean to be dramatic, but I don't think I've got forty-eight minutes_ , he'd heard in the debrief sprung to mind. In the end the scientist had lasted almost an hour and forty-eight minutes before they'd managed to get the antivenom to him. Scott was determined to last as long as he had to, but if the conversation he'd just overheard was right, he wasn't going to match Dr. Furnier's resilience.

He didn't let Virgil know he'd heard that. Whether it was fact or simply a terrified brother deep in the throes of panic, there was nothing he could do about it except do his best to prove it wrong. If the brother was Alan, he might have attempted some reassurance, but Virgil didn't like meaningless platitudes. It had been a long time since Scott had been able to blindly reassure him, and he wouldn't do that to him now.

"How are you feeling?" Virgil asked him. "Any change?" Scott didn't get a chance to answer before there was a concerned intake of air. "You can't feel me, can you?"

There was no point lying; with Virgil a single blue blur he couldn't even tell for certain where he was touching, although if Scott had to guess – and hope – he'd say he was once again holding the hand of the bitten arm. "No. Where?"

"Your hand," Virgil confirmed, and Scott sighed in relief. Not that not having feeling in his hand was good, but it meant there wasn't another dead spot he hadn't noticed. "Anywhere else?" Light touches danced across his shins, apparently no longer protected by their greaves, and his other arm.

"Still there," Scott assured him. "Feel you." It was Virgil's turn to sigh in relief.

"Okay, that's not so bad." A hand landed on his shoulder. "We're still half an hour from home. Hold on til then, okay? John's working on something."

"Not giv-ah-ing up," Scott promised, even as a fresh wave of pain coursed through him from his bitten arm, determined to remind him that he was in trouble. A lot of it. Unbidden, his body tensed as it passed, and Virgil gripped his still-feeling hand reassuringly. Scott clung to him with what little strength he could muster, but as the wave passed he felt his strength waning again.

"Scott?" Virgil squeezed his still-gloved hand lightly but he couldn't return the gesture. Not this time.

"Tired," he admitted. The claws of sleep dug into him again – _already_ , but he'd barely been awake a minute! – but that wasn't what filled his bones with a deep-set exhaustion. Sleep was good, gave his body time to throw its undivided attention at kicking the venom. But that exhaustion scared him. Somehow he knew that if it dragged him under, he wouldn't surface again.

That wasn't sleep. That was something darker, stronger. Something he wasn't ready to face. Not now, not when they knew Dad was _alive_ , when they had a plan to save him. For the first time since he'd been bitten, reality crashed into him, no longer pacified by fake smiles and pretty words.

The spider's bite was fatal. He was _dying_ and they didn't have a cure.

He was going to die.

No, he couldn't do that. Not now. Couldn't do that to his siblings, his grandmother. _Dad_ , waiting in the Oort Cloud for him to lead his brothers there.

He fought it, the bone-deep exhaustion seeping through him with promises of the stars and Mom. He threw everything he had at keeping it at bay, the panic and terror he'd been supressing coming to the fore at the realisation _time's up_.

"Scott!" Virgil sounded terrified and there was air rushing around his mouth and nose. Pressure all down one side of his body and a warm hand cupping the back of his head. That all meant something, something important, but Scott couldn't tell what. "Keep breathing, Scott, come on. You said you weren't giving up so don't you dare."

Giving up?

"Virgil, what's happening?" the voice was shrill. Scott couldn't place it.

"He's convulsing!" Virgil yelled. "And he's stopped breathing! Come on, Scott!"

Stopped breathing?

No. _No_. He wasn't giving up and he was _not_ dying today. He was supposed to be fighting, helping his brothers help him. Buying them _time_.

Time was _not_ up, and death was not taking a Tracy today. He pushed back again, spurred on by the determination not to leave his family. Mom could wait a while longer.

"That's it, Scott," Virgil's voice encouraged. "You can do it. _Breathe_."

All at once, air rushed into his lungs, and his vision focused on the blue blur in front of him. Awareness seeped through him again and he realised he was laying on his side, rebreather firmly affixed.

"Are you with me?" Virgil asked. "Scott?" He couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't promise Virgil death wasn't taking him so easily. "Scott!" But then he heard it, the promise that everything was going to be okay. A rumbling like thunder, roaring through the heavens and bringing hope to everyone that heard it.

Scott's eyes slipped closed to the lullaby of his Thunderbird's engines.


	4. Chapter 4

There was a steady beeping, calm and methodical. _Beep… beep… beep…_ it went, more of a reassurance than an irritant to the dregs of his consciousness. Scott recognised it, but couldn't place it, and found himself more interested in the fresh air flowing around his mouth and nose. That was more immediately familiar, a constant from his last bout of consciousness, and it didn't take his stirring brain long to label it as a rebreather.

Was that really necessary? Frowning slightly, he lifted a hand to his face and tugged the machine away, fresh air replaced with warmer air that had just the faintest tang. The air of the sea. He'd been on Thunderbird Two, but Thunderbird Two's air didn't taste of warmth and salt, rather the recycled air of an enclosed plane in flight, crisp and just a little bit off. If this wasn't Thunderbird Two and he was tasting sea air, there was only one place he could possibly be.

He smiled, hand still holding the rebreather falling to his side limply. He was home.

Opening his eyes was a little more of a challenge, eyelids still heavy and eyelashes catching on each other, but as he blinked his way into awareness, beads of moisture forming in the corners of his eyes but not falling, he realised that he was almost sitting upright, the bed raised to its full extent so he was facing the wall with its fake holographic window rather than the plain and boring ceiling.

Scott appreciated that, letting the rebreather fall from his fingers as he wiped the sleep and moisture from his eyes. He'd spent far too many hours staring at the monotonous ceiling, and at least the hologram could change. The actual reasoning behind his positioning was more likely his rib, which Scott would worry about later. It wasn't his rib that had tried to kill him, and he looked down at his left arm.

A neat band-aid – a childish one, the type decorated with bright red biplanes soaring across a blue background that he'd always fought for as a kid – stood out against his bare skin, just below the elbow, and he smiled, wondering which of his brothers was responsible for it. On that same forearm he also saw a cannula, attached to tubing with translucent liquid passing through, and grimaced. He never liked being on a drip.

He was no longer in his uniform. Part of him – the part that contained his pride – bristled at that, wondering who had stripped him while he was unconscious and why, but the clothes he was wearing were comfortable, well-worn, and unmistakable as his favourite pyjamas even without him looking at them. His comfort-pyjamas, although he was fairly certain he'd never made the mistake of letting that slip to anyone. The ones he turned to whenever things got particularly rough, a plain unassuming dark grey with worn patches from the times he'd needed all the support he could get.

It could just be a coincidence, although Scott was uncomfortably aware that if there was one person he couldn't keep anything truly secret from it was John, but whatever the reason, he was glad of them now. There was nothing like comfort clothes after a near-death experience.

Considering he'd just _had_ a near-death experience, the lack of anyone in the room with him was somewhat unusual. Virgil in particular he'd expected to see, his younger brother blaming himself for bringing him out on the mission even _before_ he'd been bitten, let alone afterwards. Kayo hovering unassumedly in the corner, sharp eyes full of concern. John flickering by his side, watching him for the slightest change. Grandma, retired from caring for strangers but never too old to stay up all night with her family.

Scott eyed the drip. If none of his family were with him, physically _or_ virtually, then that meant something else was going on that trumped his condition. In their family, there was very little that trumped an unconscious brother or grandson. And if they weren't with him, he had no intentions of staying put.

He'd removed drips hundreds of times – his own and other peoples'. By this point, he had it down to an art, even if his sneaky family had tried to make it harder on him by putting it in his dominant arm; there were benefits to being ambidextrous. He reached across with his right hand, fingers gently probing the needle, and had just found the sweet spot when there was the unmistakable _hsss_ of the door sliding open.

"What do you think you're doing, young man?" Grandma demanded, striding in and gently but firmly forcing him to release his grip. "That's there for a reason."

"Hey, Grandma," he greeted, grinning at her and ignoring that she'd just caught him trying to escape. "How long was I asleep?"

"Your siblings brought you back four and a half hours ago," she told him, picking up the discarded rebreather and placing it on the bedside table before perching on the bed. Scott watched her carefully, accepting the hand cupping his cheek as a thumb swiped at what was presumably some sleep he'd missed. "Trust you to wake up the one time I have to use the toilet. This old bladder can't hold it in like it used to."

Scott grimaced good-naturedly at the TMI and she chuckled at him, patting his cheek lightly twice before letting her hand rest against his skin.

"You gave us all a scare there, Scott," she said softly, eyes running over him once before meeting his own. "You don't have to try and beat Gordon on that score, you know. It's okay to let someone else have _that_ crown."

"I'd appreciate it if he never gave me another scare in my life," Scott admitted, before glancing around the room again. "Where are they, anyway? Not to sound self-centred, but I don't usually wake up here alone."

"Alan and Kayo are dealing with a stalled freighter just outside of orbit and Gordon and Virgil are responding to a sinking cargo ship," Grandma told him. "They'll all be back soon, and delighted to know you've decided to re-join the land of the living." She tangled her fingers with his, pressing them to her chest with a hand that was almost trembling. "It was a close call, Scott. Your brother almost didn't make it in time."

His brother? Virgil? John? John had had a plan, he remembered that much, although he wasn't sure he'd ever heard the details. Wait…

"I heard Thunderbird One," he said, recalling the roar that had soothed him to sleep like a purr. It could have been a figment of his imagination, but he didn't think so. A smile spread across his grandmother's face.

"Of course you did," she laughed. "You boys and your machines. Well on your way to see your mother and you still recognised your 'bird." The smile was bright for a moment before it dimmed again. "Alan flew all the way to a lab in China to collect a dose of the antivenom before rendezvousing with Thunderbird Two to deliver it. I've never seen that 'bird fly so fast without you in the hotseat."

Alan. Scott could well imagine his youngest brother, face screwed up in concentration and fear, sat in the pilot's seat. The idea tied a knot in his chest, but at the same time there was pride, and an unexpected thankfulness for the rib injury that had kept him grounded and subsequently given Alan more flight hours in his 'bird. Without that…

Without that, he might well have died. The realisation doused him like cold water, his eyes leaving his grandmother to stare blindly at his lap. He'd known he was dying, remembered a desperate fight against whispered promises of the stars and seeing his Mom again, but sitting in the infirmary, _home_ and safe, it carried a different weight.

"Oh, Scott," Grandma whispered, releasing his hand and cheek only to draw him in to a careful hug around his shoulders. "It's okay. It's over." After a moment his hands found the back of her always there purple onesie, fisting around the fabric as his head rested in the crook of her neck. "It's okay."

There was the slightest of cracks in her voice, a reminder that no matter how much steel she was made of, she wasn't immune to the idea of loss. Her parents, long ago, before Scott's memories began. Her husband, daughter in law. Her _son_ , who might still be alive and waiting for them.

"I'm okay," he repeated, as much for her benefit as his. "I'm okay."

Her hand found the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair softly as though he was a young boy woken from a nightmare again. It was the sort of treatment she didn't give him in front of his brothers, knowing that he preferred to keep up the illusion of strength in front of them, no matter what.

"I want you to take it easy," she told him after a minute or so, releasing him and instead gripping his hands in hers. One pair was trembling, but he didn't know if it was his or hers. "I know that's not in your vocabulary, but I refuse to let you throw yourself back in harms' way until you're fully recovered after what happened today."

"But-" Scott protested, complaints and reasons why he shouldn't be bedbound queuing up one after the other on the tongue. A single look from his grandmother quelled them all before he could vocalise any.

"If you can't do it for the sake of your _own_ recovery," she said, something in her voice implying that she thought he should treat himself better – he treated himself _fine_! – "then do it for our peace of mind, Scott. We were _all_ terrified when we heard what happened. Virgil was stuck watching you slip away with no way of stopping it. That fear doesn't magically go away, Scott. We all know that."

He was saved from answering by the swish of the door opening again. He glanced over, wondering who it could be when his brothers were all off on rescues. Brains and the Mechanic were the only others on the island, and while it wasn't unusual for Brains to check up on the infirmary, Scott didn't want the Mechanic near him in his current condition.

It wasn't the Mechanic. It wasn't Brains, either.

"h'Oh, you're h'awake!" Parker said with a surprised but delighted grin as he fumbled his way into the room carrying a tray laden with food. "h'I was just bringing food for Mrs Tracy…" he trailed off, but continued to approach the bed.

"Parker, you shouldn't have," Grandma smiled, releasing one of Scott's hands to move the rebreather off of the bedside table. The older man set the tray down before stepping up to Scott's side. He didn't reach for him, keeping his hands loosely behind his back, but sharp blue eyes raked him up and down.

"'Ow are you feeling?" he asked after a moment.

"I'm fine," Scott replied, ignoring the eye roll from his grandmother, who clearly didn't agree with his assessment. Aside from some token weariness, which he knew was normal after a spell of time unconscious, he really did feel perfectly fine. Even his rib wasn't bothering him.

"h'I suppose that's because you're h'on the good stuff," Parker shrugged, making Scott pause. He should have realised that, especially after all the trouble his ribs had given him on the mission. The temptation was there to ask how badly his recovery had been set back, but that would have just given Grandma even more ammunition to make him stay in bed. Besides, he'd be told eventually. Of more immediate interest was Parker's unexpected visit.

"What brings you to the island, Parker?" he asked, glancing around the room again. "I don't see Lady Penelope around?"

"M'Lady's in the lounge," Parker told him. "We came 'ere to drop off the Centurion-21 fuel for Brains, but 'eard h'about you and M'Lady requested to stay h'a while."

"You're always welcome here," Grandma reminded him, and Scott smiled in agreement. "Is she making any progress?"

"h'I couldn't say for sure," Parker shrugged. "But I know M'Lady and Master John won't stop h'until they get their way."

Scott frowned. Combined, John and Lady Penelope were an almost unstoppable force, but he couldn't think of any reason for that tag-team, not right now.

"What are they doing?" he asked, because anything that big, he needed to know about. Especially if working on that was a higher priority for John than checking in on _him_ – John, the brother who was too used to sitting out of the loop and firmly inserted himself virtually into any situation with a brother operating at less than one hundred percent. Scott knew he wasn't at one hundred percent, not even by his own standards.

"Making sure today's events never happen again," Grandma answered, curling her hand back around his again.

_Today's events_. The rescue? Him being bitten? That was all bad luck, how could they possibly ensure it never happened again? Although, he supposed, if anyone _could_ , it would be the duo currently working on it.

His confusion must have shown on his face, because Parker took it upon himself to explain. "h'It transpires that the reason the 'ospital ran h'out of h'antivenom was a funding problem," he said, sounding somewhat unimpressed. Scott didn't blame him – whenever money was the problem, he found himself wanting to strangle whoever had decided lining their pockets was more important than human lives. "M'Lady h'is setting up a charity to make sure all 'ospitals can 'ave all the h'antivenoms they need." Admirable and welcome, but that didn't explain John's involvement. He certainly hadn't been needed in any of her past charity ventures.

"So what's John doing?" he asked, hoping his brother was _not_ ruining whoever had decided money was more important than lives. It wouldn't be the first time, and while Scott agreed that they deserved it, sometimes John could go a little too far.

"Arranging for International Rescue to have our own stock of all known antivenoms," Grandma told him, squeezing his hands gently. "We might not be able to stop spiders sneaking into our Thunderbirds, or you boys throwing yourselves in front of each other, but there is no reason why you should have had to suffer for an hour because you didn't have the right antivenom on hand."

That made sense, and Scott nodded his approval. International Rescue _did_ have a stock of common antivenoms, as well as everything they needed to deal with the local fauna on Tracy Island, but if they could broaden that, at least to the most dangerous venoms, it would only be a good thing.

It was also a typical John reaction – finding out why something had gone wrong and immediately finding a way to stop it happening again. That, at least, told Scott that John was okay. If he'd found a solution to the problem then he would be satisfied. No doubt Scott would find himself under close holographic scrutiny in the near future so John could see for himself that he really was fine, but with a solution the what-ifs wouldn't be playing on his mind.

His _other_ siblings would be less easily pacified. He had no idea what Gordon knew, having not seen his water-loving brother at all that day thanks to a fishing trawler in trouble, but Virgil and Kayo would be kicking themselves black and blue, and Alan would be stuck in the _what if I'd been too late_ loop. Scott knew that feeling very well indeed.

He hadn't yet decided if the fact that it had launched rather than exploded made the fact that he'd reached the Zero-X too late better or worse. He wasn't sure he'd ever decide.

"Still, I think we'd better let them know you've woken up," Grandma said, releasing his hands. "I won't be long, so don't even think about getting out of that bed, young man." She shared a look with Parker. "If you're hungry, see if you can eat some of that food Parker's brought in." A gentle hand touched his cheek lightly before she stood up and left the room.

One look at Parker told him he wasn't going to be going anywhere, especially when the man perched on the section of bed Grandma had just vacated. Parker was the one he'd learnt many of his escaping tricks _from_ – if there was one person that would see through them all, it was the butler.

"h'I wouldn't be in too much of a 'urry to h'escape, Master Scott," the older man said, and Scott found himself relaxing back against the bed. _Master Scott_. It was his favourite of Parker's ways of referring to him, but also the rarest. He'd graduated to 'Mr Scott' after the Zero-X, the man's acknowledgement that he was now the head of the family without using the dreaded _Mr Tracy_. Parker never called him that, not even in public when the rest of the world insisted. _Sir_ was a substitute when society demanded, and Scott always appreciated that.

_Master Scott_ only came out when Parker was being fussy, and never with an audience. Just like Grandma, he knew and accepted there was a front to be held in front of younger siblings – even if neither of them approved. If he was _Master Scott_ , he wasn't expected to make any decisions or take on any of his father's responsibilities.

"Some food?" the butler asked, gesturing to the tray. It was homemade, but not by Grandma, and Scott would have to be far worse off to even consider declining that. In answer, he reached for the toast, only for Parker to lightly touch his wrist and stop him. "You'll get crumbs h'everywhere if you h'eat like that," the older man scolded lightly. "Stay still, there's a good lad."

The tray was relocated to his lap, and Scott tore into the offering as soon as Parker retracted his hands, to an amused chuckle from his companion.

"h'It's not going anywhere, Master Scott," Parker reminded him.

"He's just trying to finish it before the others get home and want to share," John commented, and Scott's head jerked up to see his brother's hologram materialise alongside him. He looked tired, not that that was an unusual occurrence over the past few weeks. "You're looking better, Scott."

"I can't imagine that's hard," he managed through a mouthful of food. The last time he'd been aware of John's presence, he'd been deep in the clutches of deadly venom. If he'd looked half as had as he'd felt, it would have been an awful sight. "How's the campaign going?"

John pulled a face. "They're asking for money, which by itself isn't a problem because I expected that, but they're trying to charge us triple what they charge hospitals, and as Lady P's working to get those rates reduced because they're extortionate, I'm not letting them use our lives to line their pockets."

Scott grimaced along with him. Money grabbers were the worst.

"So what's your plan?" he asked, because there was no way John was letting that slide.

"Persuading them that it's better in their interest long-term to not try and bankrupt us," John offered, a bemused look on his face. "We _could_ afford it, but if they think that they'll be driving the prices up with every new shipment. More realistically, I'm talking to Colonel Casey to see if the GDF can't pull some weight. As they're military and not private, the companies couldn't charge them as much. It would leave us needing the GDF's good will for access, but we already know the GDF don't dare put us out of business."

It was Scott's turn to pull a face. He hated getting the GDF involved in anything; for as long as Colonel Casey was a dominant figure in the organisation International Rescue wouldn't have any issues, but in the longer term he was brutally aware that she _was_ their father's generation. At some point, she would be forced to retire and then they'd – _he'd_ – have to handle the full force of the GDF without inside help.

Still, he trusted John and Colonel Casey. Anything they implemented would be beneficial to International Rescue.

"Let me know what you come up with," he requested, and John nodded, turquoise eyes briefly scanning across him.

"Alan and Kayo will be returning home in five minutes," he told him. "Do you want me to tell them you're awake or let them find out for themselves when they check in?"

"Tell them once they've landed," Scott decided. "Virgil and Gordon, too – what's their ETA?"

"They're racing Thunderbird Three home," John shrugged. "But Thunderbird Three will win." Scott chuckled. Alan somehow _always_ won their races home, no matter how much further away he'd been.

"What are they betting this time?" he asked, and John grinned.

"Who gets to be your slave for the week," he said.

"Mine?"

"Well you're not doing much on your own any time soon," John told him matter-of-factly. "Has Grandma given you the rundown?" Scott blinked, pausing mid-bite.

"I thought I was supposed to be walking around with the ribs," he ventured tentatively. "But no, I haven't been told what the damage is yet. Care to fill me in?"

John glanced away at something Scott couldn't see.

"Your rib re-broke," he started bluntly. "Which I'm sure you've realised. So that's another six weeks grounded, and this time no-one's sneaking you onto a Thunderbird before that's up."

"Six _weeks_?" Scott groaned. John raised an eyebrow in his direction.

"Well what did you expect?" he asked. "Kayo filled us in on the mission details once you were stable. You're lucky it wasn't worse."

"But-" Scott protested. "What about the mission to find Dad?" John shook his head.

"The new Zero-X will take longer that to construct," he told him. "Brains and the Mechanic finished the T-Drive while you were out in Brazil and we've got the fuel, so they're going to test fire it tomorrow to make sure it's all working before they start on the craft itself."

"Tomorrow?" Scott asked. "If it's ready why not today?"

"Even engineers need breaks sometimes, Scott," John scolded lightly. "They've been working almost non-stop for the past five weeks, which I know you know." There was a slightly accusatory tone at the end of his sentence, and Scott realised John knew how closely he'd started watching the two engineers. "Besides, Grandma and Virgil won't let you out of that bed for at least twenty-four hours, and we all know you won't be happy unless you see it for yourself."

Well, they weren't wrong.

"You still haven't told me why I'm getting a slave for a week over a broken rib," Scott realised, and John once again raised an eyebrow at him.

"You haven't tried to get out of bed yet?"

"Don't h'encourage 'im, Master John," Parker groaned. "Mrs Tracy 'ad to stop 'im h'earlier and 'e 'asn't 'ad h'a chance since."

"It was an _hour_ before the antivenom reached you, Scott. The damage doesn't get miraculously fixed just because the venom's gone," John continued. "Your blood pressure is still low so I'd wager you'll probably pass out if you try to stand right now, no matter _how_ 'fine' you feel, and we don't yet know for sure if it's done any damage to your heart."

"My heart?" The soft background beeping caught Scott's attention and he turned his head to the EKG. It was on, signalling that it was receiving data from wireless transmitters. He put a hand to his chest; underneath the pyjamas he felt the tell-tale patches, leaving him with no doubt that it was his own heartbeat it was recording. "Oh." That was low. Not dramatically so, but lower than his normal resting rate.

"It's recovered reasonably well, but Grandma and Virgil still aren't happy with it," John told him. From his tone, it wasn't only the family medics unhappy. "I know you don't _like_ staying in bed, but unless you want to fall over and make your ribs worse, I would suggest you stay put."

Scott scowled.

"You're also recovering from dehydration, so drink up and leave that drip in," Grandma added, walking back in with a large cup, complete with straw. "I see there's nothing wrong with your appetite," she observed. Parker obligingly removed the now-empty tray away from Scott's lap and stood so that she could sit back on the side of the bed. "Drink."

Obediently, he took the cup with both hands and sipped at the liquid, which revealed itself to be simply water. A dull rumbling even through the soundproofing of the infirmary told him Thunderbird Three was back. John confirmed that before signing off to talk to their returning siblings.

Scott made a note of the time, wondering how long it would take before he had visitors.


	5. Chapter 5

Three minutes later and the door slammed open to find Kayo and Alan shoulder-to-shoulder, clearly racing each other.

"No running in the house!" Grandma barked, but neither of them looked the least apologetic. They did at least walk the distance from the door to his bed, where Grandma had slipped off to let them get closer. Both stopped short, Alan fidgeting from foot to foot at he stared at him with open relief, and Scott rolled his eyes.

"Come here," he told his youngest brother, spreading his arms in demand of a hug. As always, Alan needed no further invitation, crashing into him and wrapping his arms around him tightly, although it didn't miss Scott's attention that it wasn't Alan's usual rib-squeezing hug. He appreciated that, curling his own arms around his brother's shoulders.

Alan was trembling. "I thought I was going to lose you," he mumbled into Scott's neck. "I thought-"

"I'm still here, kid," he interrupted quietly. "And I hear I have you to thank for that." The sniffle he got in response told him it was Alan the baby brother, rather than Alan the emergency responder, he was dealing with. "You did good."

"I thought I was too late," Alan mumbled, and there were tears against Scott's skin. He tightened his grip on his brother. "You looked d-dead. I d-didn't think you were breathing."

"I'm here and breathing," Scott assured him, letting him sob on his shoulder as long as he needed, rubbing the neoprene – both siblings were still in uniform – underneath his hand reassuringly. He remembered the same reaction after EOS had first made herself known to them, only that time it had been John that Alan had clung to in tears, post-adrenaline rush. They needed to stop putting their lives in Alan's hands like that.

But Alan would settle, barring the new nightmare fuel that never went away, once he'd let out the initial emotions. It was either a blessing of youth, or a coping strategy he'd been forced to employ too young. Kayo, who was watching with unguarded relief across her face, was like John; pragmatic and level-headed. A serious conversation would settle her, although when she met his eyes, he linked his hands together behind Alan's back and made them flutter, shooting her a quick grin.

The resulting glower she sent him didn't hide the softening in her eyes, or the way her shoulders slumped. Satisfied for the moment, he returned his attention to his youngest brother, who seemed content to stay where he was. Scott let him, nodding at Parker when the older man gestured that he was going to leave the room.

No sooner was Parker gone than Gordon burst through the door, Virgil hot on his heels.

"Scott!" Gordon skidded to a stop just behind Alan, reaching out to put a hand on Scott's shoulder where he could. "Don't do that again," he demanded, amber eyes flicking to the EKG for a split second before he found some space to perch on the bed behind Alan.

"Like you're one to talk," Scott shot back. Gordon grinned.

"I won't if you don't," he said. "Deal?"

"Deal."

They couldn't really promise that, not in their profession, but Scott saw something lift behind Gordon's eyes, the banter regardless doing something to reassure him. Gordon had always used humour to cope.

Four siblings down, or at least addressed, and one to go. Somehow, Scott didn't think a hug or joke would work quite so well on Virgil. Guilt was deep-set in brown eyes, but Virgil didn't look at him directly, focusing on the EKG and drip as he bustled around.

"Virgil," he said, pulling one hand away from Alan to catch his brother's arm the moment Virgil got in reach. It was the arm with the needle in it, bright band-aid stark against his skin. Virgil's eyes focussed on it and Scott sighed, tightening his grip on the neoprene beneath his fingers. "Look at me." He couldn't do much, not while Alan was still clinging to him, but hell if he was going to let Virgil shut himself away and stew in a self-inflicted puddle of misplaced guilt.

Virgil stilled, but didn't obey. Scott closed his eyes and sighed again, squeezing Alan lightly. The blond snuffled but didn't otherwise move.

"Virgil." That was John's voice, his final brother reappearing holographically at the foot of Scott's bed. The middle brother ignored him, too.

"Kid, your brother's talking to you," Grandma chipped in. "At least have the manners to look at him." Despite the words, there was no scolding in her tone, just a quiet encouragement. Virgil glanced up at her, and a look passed between them that Scott couldn't see before Virgil slowly turned to face him.

"Thank you," he said before Virgil could apologise, or say something else nonsensical. Whatever his brother had been gearing up for, it clearly wasn't that; he blinked, startled, before opening his mouth to probably-protest. "I know it was Alan that got the antivenom, but you're the one that kept me alive long enough to get it."

"I'm the reason you needed it in the first place!" Virgil snapped, looking away again. "If I'd paid more attention… if I-"

"If _nothing_ ," Scott interrupted, conscious that they had an audience but unable to ask anyone to leave. He wanted his family there, with him, and knew they were all busy reassuring themselves that he was going to be fine. "You'd have done the same thing if our positions were reversed, except I'm not as good as you with all the medical stuff."

"You'd have done enough," Virgil mumbled, and Scott rolled his eyes.

"And you did enough," he returned. "No what-ifs, Virgil." Hell knew he'd told himself that enough through the years, with varying levels of success.

Virgil at least met his eyes again, even though Scott could see it wasn't enough to lift the guilt. That would take much longer, including him making a full recovery and a conversation without the rest of the family listening in, intentionally or not.

"You're staying in that bed," he said instead, and Scott made a grumbling noise of protest.

"So I've been told," he replied. "I can't say I'm happy about it, but John made quite the compelling argument."

"Does this mean you'll listen to me for once?" John asked disbelievingly, arms crossed and eyebrow raised.

"What do you mean, for once?" Scott asked. "I listen to you!"

"When it suits you," John rebuked. "I have a list, if you'd care to hear it."

Scott wouldn't put it past John to _actually_ have a list. He turned his attention back to his other brothers without responding, to an amused noise from the space monitor, and gave Alan a grin as the youngest finally pulled back from his shoulder, eyeing him with teary blue eyes.

"I'll sit on you if you try and get up," the youngest told him firmly, look somewhat ruined by those eyes. Gordon laughed.

"Alan, you're a twig."

"Am not, fishboy!"

"Are, too!"

"Not!"

"Boys," Kayo interrupted, taking a few steps closer to the cluster on the bed. With one arm now free, Scott reached for her and got a light hug at his silent request. It didn't last long, but it was enough for the rest of the tension to leave her shoulders before she stepped back, out of his reach again.

"Hey, where's my hug?" Gordon demanded, and Scott raised an eyebrow at him.

"You want a hug, you've got to come get it yourself," he said. "I'm not moving."

Permission gained, Gordon shoved Alan out of the way, the younger falling off the bed with a squawk of indignation, and wrapped himself around Scott. It was far looser than his usual hugs, but out of all his brothers, Gordon was best at gauging what an injured person could take. Scott rested his chin on his shoulder, feeling the dampness of the neoprene that betrayed that Gordon had been in the water during his mission.

Tension drained out of his aquanaut brother's powerful shoulders and Scott found himself relaxing as well. He'd always found it easiest to relax and wind down when his brothers were okay, and with three out of four openly reassured, his own nerves were less on edge.

"I'm still sorry," Virgil said after a moment. Scott still had hold of his bicep, and glanced up at him as he spoke. That pain and guilt was still there in brown eyes, but it was Gordon and Alan that Virgil was looking at. A big brother himself, he too was being drawn into some sort of reassurance by the youngest two calming down.

There were many responses Scott could give, and maybe later once it was just the two of them he'd dive deeper in if Virgil hadn't managed to settle himself and needed a stronger release, but in that moment, with his family around him and the knowledge that whatever happened next, they'd survived this hurdle, there was only one thing to say.

"I know."

Surprised brown eyes met his, as though Virgil had expected another rebuke, another _it's not your fault_ , but Scott knew better. He didn't blame Virgil at all, but it wasn't his forgiveness Virgil needed; his brother needed to forgive himself for his perceived transgressions, and that he couldn't do as long as Scott stayed stubborn. He tugged at the bicep in his grip, coaxing Virgil closer with an inviting smile.

Virgil hesitated, understanding but unsure. Scott didn't say anything else, didn't push harder, but then Grandma put a hand on Virgil's other arm and whatever remaining fight there was seeped away.

It was Gordon's turn to squawk as he found himself nudged out of the way, but he went willingly, surrendering the space to Virgil as Scott's dark-haired brother wrapped his arms around him cautiously.

"I'm okay," Scott murmured into his brother's ear, returning the hug as fiercely as he could. Like Alan before him, Virgil shook ever so slightly under his touch, but unlike the youngest, no tears were shed.

"I thought I'd lost you," Virgil mumbled. "You stopped breathing for a minute just before Alan arrived and I thought that was it."

"I heard you," Scott admitted, just as quietly. "I don't think I'd have had the strength to keep fighting without you. Alan might have got the antivenom, but _you_ saved me, too."

Virgil gave a shuddering breath and his arms tightened, just a little.

They stayed like that for several minutes, Scott managing to relax further now that was the fifth and final sibling's immediate concerns addressed, but eventually Virgil pulled back, the ghost of a smile on his face. He looked like he wanted to say something, but before he could, Gordon crashed into him.

"Group hug!" he declared, reaching out to snag Alan and pinning an unprotesting Virgil in place as Scott's three youngest brothers gathered as close as they could for a tangle of arms and bodies on Scott's bed. Alan flailed in Kayo's direction and the young woman stepped closer, slipping an arm delicately around the back of Scott's neck and more tightly around Alan. Scott grinned at her before looking past the mass of brothers to lock eyes with the one he couldn't reach. John grinned back at him, and even though he wasn't physically there, Scott didn't need it to know his immediate brother was just as relieved.

The hug lasted until Grandma intervened, suggesting that they let him have a little bit of space. He didn't need _space_ , but they all heard the underlying reminder that he was in that bed for a reason. After that, it was back to business as usual, his on-Earth siblings scattering to change on Grandma's order and reconvening later in their civvies with various forms of entertainment while John went back to his latest project.

Lady Penelope poked her head in later, but he didn't see Brains – or the Mechanic – until the next day.

"I-it's time to t-test the T-Drive e-engine," the engineer told him the next morning, after checking him over in his own desire for reassurance; there was some guilt there as well, for pushing him out on the rescue, but thankfully Brains was much easier to calm than his brothers – the fact that Brains hadn't _seen_ him almost dead helped.

"Give me five," he said, reaching for the drip stuck in his arm.

"Make that ten, Brains," Virgil rumbled, catching Scott's hand. "Scott's not up to walking even if he thinks he is."

Scott groaned, but Virgil raised an eyebrow at him.

"I thought John made a compelling argument for you to stay in bed?" he challenged, and Scott shrugged.

"That was yesterday."

"And your heart rate still isn't back to normal, so it's the hoverchair or nothing," Virgil rebuked, rolling his eyes.

Scott sighed but dutifully held out his arm for Virgil to remove the drip instead.

"No, that's coming with you," Virgil corrected, gently pushing it down to his side again. "Just the EKG." The machine was turned off, but Virgil made no move to relieve him of the transmitters, telling Scott that it was being linked back up later. Wonderful. "Now then, let's get you out of this bed-"

Scott leaned forwards and swung his legs around, placing them on the floor and pushing himself to his feet.

"Woah!" Virgil sprinted around the bed and caught him as his vision fuzzed. "John's compelling argument?" Scott was vaguely aware of being shifted around as the world spun around him, but it was a surprise to find himself in the hoverchair by the time he was fully aware of his surroundings again. Usually, Virgil would dump him straight back in bed.

"Okay, John's compelling argument still holds," he admitted, leaning against the back of the chair and closing his eyes briefly as the world tried to spin a little more.

"Let's get going," Virgil sighed. "Hands off the controls; I'm steering." Scott grumbled, but had no doubt that the controls had actually been disabled. "As soon as the test is over, you're coming straight back."

"I don't have a choice, do I?" he asked, and Virgil chuckled.

"Not at all."

They were last to the balcony; it didn't escape Scott's notice that the Mechanic was the other end to the rest of them, talking quietly to Brains but otherwise ignoring the Tracys. That suited Scott just fine; if the test worked, he was well aware he owed the man an apology for his heated accusations of sabotage. Although maybe he'd keep that back until the Zero-X2 launched successfully and Dad was home. Just in case.

"You look pale," Grandma commented. "Did he try to stand up?" she asked Virgil. Scott glowered as Virgil rolled his eyes in answer.

"What do you think?" he asked rhetorically. "He didn't pass out entirely, otherwise the test would be happening without him, whether he liked it or not, but it was close."

" _He_ is right here," Scott grumbled.

"And he's going to keep his mouth shut and drink this up," Grandma informed him, pressing a cup of water, complete with straw, into his hands. "You shouldn't be out of bed at all, young man."

"T-test is ready," Brains announced before Scott could find a retort that wouldn't get him taken straight back to the infirmary. "I-igniting T-Drive in three, two, one."

Without binoculars, it was difficult to see what was happening on the platform, but nothing exploded and after several moments all that could be seen or heard was the whining of an engine. It was higher pitched than the engines Scott was used to, but there were none of the warning noises suggesting that something was wrong.

Beside him, Virgil sighed in relief while Gordon and Alan whooped.

"C-cutting engine," Brains called, and it powered down easily. Smooth as any of the best plane engines Scott had piloted – and he'd piloted many.

It had worked. They had a T-Drive engine.

They could go find Dad.

"Scott?" Virgil sounded worried, and he opened his eyes – when he had closed them? – to look up at his worried brother. Alan and Gordon hovered nearby, and he looked at them all in turn, even John's silent hologram – his ginger brother hadn't been there when the test had started, hadn't been expected after he pointed out their holotech's range didn't reach that far. "Are you okay?"

Was he okay? He had a broken rib, was recovering from a near-fatal spider bite and its side effects of dehydration, bradycardia and hypotension, and the man who had almost killed his brothers multiple times was standing the other end of the same balcony.

But they were one step, one _significant_ step closer to Dad.

"Yeah," he said, staring out past them, at the platform cradling the most important engine International Rescue had ever created. For the first time since that horrid trash mine day five weeks earlier, he could honestly say, "I'm okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with that, this supposedly short, quick exploration for what I thought was an odd decision on the part of the episode writers has finally wrapped up, three chapters and another 10k words after the original plan.
> 
> Thanks for reading!  
> Tsari

**Author's Note:**

> Scott took a bit of a beating in _Buried Treasure_ but the real motivation for this fic was the lack of Thunderbird One, or any Scott piloting at all, in _Venom_ , a rescue that needed speed. Therefore, _Grounded_ will be a canon-compliant exploration of the bits we didn't see.
> 
> Thanks for reading!  
> Tsari


End file.
